"You've been taking it for about a week or so, huh? That's why you're cramping up and your hair's falling out? You're doing it slow, hoping he wouldn't notice," Kimble tells her as she looks away. Kimble tells her he knows what it's like to want to give up. "My body's closing in on me," Bree tells him, "like a coffin. It won't walk or run, dance or make love. This wasn't the life I'm supposed to have." Kimble ponders this statement and how it relates to his own life. "What about Gary?" he asks her, and she turns away. Kimble continues, "My wife died, and if I could tell you all the things I feel every day because I know I can't see her again, you wouldn't give up, you couldn't." Gary walks in and greets them. Kimble tells him he finished the forms for them. "Should I drop them in the mail?" he asks, looking at Bree. She nods, and Kimble smiles, thinking that it's a darn good thing he took the "How To Talk Patient Out Of Self-Assisted Suicide" elective in medical school.

Kimble drops a bunch of forms in the mail and flips open his cell phone. He dials up a number. "Magnolia Arms," says the voice. Kimble asks for Fred Johnson's room. You know, if the guy doesn't even want to give the benefits people at Social Security his name, he just might be registered under an alias like John Fredson or One-Arm -- it's not always going to be that easy, Dr. Kimble. Nonetheless, the phone rings in a drab empty room, and we can see a half-empty bottle of whisky on the desk. That means One-Arm is dangerous. The receptionist tells him that Fred Johnson is not in his room. Kimble hangs up and gets another idea. He calls the hotel back and asks for Housekeeping and requests towels for Johnson's room. While Housekeeping busies themselves in the bathroom, Kimble hides in another part of the room. We flash back to the weird Cuban landlord telling Kimble that One-Arm is waiting for a package. Another flashback to Kimble spying that exact package under One-Arm's fake arm as he boards the bus for Savannah. As soon as Housekeeping leaves, Kimble searches the room, and since there's not much there other than the whisky bottle, Kimble comes across the package fairly quickly, inside a pillow. The postmark on the package is Charleston, South Carolina. There's a click from the hallway, and Kimble turns to see One-Arm pointing a gun at him. One-Arm knocks the receiver off the hook and dials 9-1-1, rasping in a very Christopher Walken voice, "I'm not wanted." The 911 operator says, "911, what are you reporting?" The tension builds, the operator says again, "911, what are you reporting?" and after more build-up of tension, we go to commercial.